


Roommating

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [10]
Category: Deadpool (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with someone who has no sense of personal space or privacy isn't all it's cracked up to be (and that's saying something). Arrows & Duct Tape 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roommating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totallybalanced](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallybalanced/gifts).



Clint had started to feel a lot like an extremely underpaid babysitter. It was one assignment too many when Wade went MIA, only to return after the dust settled with fast food in one hand and a well-crafted (though hardly believable) excuse on his lips, that forced Coulson to make "other" arrangements for their friendly neighborhood mercenary. He'd been completely onboard with the plan at first, he'd always been of the opinion that getting Wade out of the way where someone could keep a close, capable eye on him was the best decision for everyone. But he had thought more along the lines of one of the high-security cells beneath SHIELD headquarters, definitely not _his_ apartment.

He argued that he was barely capable of taking care of _himself_ , that watching after the walking disaster that was his partner wasn't exactly something he thought he could successfully maneuver. But Coulson gave him that calm, knowing smile, and shrugged nonchalantly, telling him "I'm sure you'll handle it just fine."

Clearly, he had a lot more faith in Clint than Clint had in himself because wasn't looking forward to having Wade as a roommate. He didn't think any sane person would.

And it wasn't _just_ Wade either. He came with baggage - both literal and metaphorical. He came with a whole fucking hoard of baggage. He was the crazy cat lady of quirks and Clint started to wonder about two days in if he didn't need to maybe implement a filing system to keep track of it all. Not only did he have a motley crew of friends and "business acquaintances" that would make a carnival barker flinch (and Clint felt like he was a pretty good authority on _that_ ), but there was also all this literal junk that came with him. DVDs, books, magazines, My Little Pony figures, and an impressive collection of Bea Arthur commemorative memorabilia all sat half-unpacked in Clint's living room weeks after Wade first landed on his doorstep.

He put up with it, though, not because he felt bad that Wade kept getting shuffled from one handler to the next or even because it had been a direct order from Coulson and he wasn't about to be the person to tell him no; it was because he sort of, weirdly, liked the company. Maybe he was just as crazy as the rest of them were, but even coming home to a complete disaster meant coming home to something that wasn't the same quiet monotony that had droned on and on in his life beforehand. There was nothing quiet or predictable about Wade and after he adjusted to the noise, he found himself growing increasingly fond of him despite his constant annoyance with the other man.

After a few conversations with Wade's friends (all two of them), he'd started to get the picture that this was more or less the case with everyone who got close to him. You had to have a certain sense of humor, and a hell of a lot of patience, to put up with him. He'd always been like that, it seemed, even before Weapon X and the sordid shit that followed. Clint didn't know the whole story, though he was sure it was in Wade's files if he ever chose to look through them, but if it was anything like his own, he could excuse a few bad habits. And as long as Wade didn't ask about his past, he didn't ask about Wade's either, so it worked out well for both of them.

His only _real_ complaint - not the mess or the chaos or the astronomical cable bills - was that Wade seemed to have no concept of boundaries at all. Once he'd taken up residence with Clint it was as if the place had always been his. His clothes, his _stuff_ scattered from one end of the apartment to the other and there, in the middle of the cyclone, was the man himself. That and the fact that it had become almost routine for Clint to walk in on Wade in some kind of compromising position.

It was always the weirdest things too. One morning he found Wade trying to lead a battalion of pastel-colored plastic ponies against half-melted army men who were acting as a zombie horde, complete with impressive voice-overs and sound effects. Another day he was having a deep conversation with a magazine cut-out of Hugh Jackman's face. There were countless instances of raving at daytime television, kitchen disasters, and the ever-exciting experience of walking in on Wade with his hand shoved into his Spiderman boxers.

(So maybe they weren't _always_ Spiderman; he had a pair of Iron Man ones that always made Clint smirk, and a pair of ratty old flannel pants with chili peppers and a hole in the worst possible place imaginable.)

It didn't matter what he had (or didn't) have on, Wade had practically claimed the center of Clint's couch for jerking off. It was strategically placed in front of the television, which was why Clint put it there in the first place, but also enabled Wade to throw up his blinders and stick a hand into his shorts without getting distracted by anything outside his tunnel-vision. It wasn't always porn on the TV either (though when it was, most of it was so strange that Clint had to stand there and stare at it over Wade's shoulder just to figure out what the hell was going on). It was everything from science fiction movies to old sitcoms to cartoons. Wade wasn't a discriminating pervert. Though at least he wasn't boring.

Fortunately, he cleaned up after himself, and all things considered, he could have had a lot worse habits than being a closet exhibitionist. At least he wasn't snorting coke off Clint's bathroom sink or something like that. Compared to some of the people he'd had to live with, Wade was practically an ideal situation. He was still going to find socks and boxers strewn all over the apartment, empty jugs of milk in his refrigerator, the occasional explosive or high-powered weapon laying out on the coffee table. He was still going to walk in on Wade beating off in the middle of the afternoon. But at least life wasn't boring anymore and, on the rare occasion that he needed someone to go see a Nicholas Cage movie with, Wade was always game for riffing on it from the back row with him.

Not that he'd ever say it out loud, but maybe Coulson did, on occasion, know what he was talking about.


End file.
